The Fire Lord's Lover - 1 (23 page)

   Dominic strode toward Mor'ded and Walpole, and the short distance seemed incredibly long… and far too short. He could think of only one way to protect Cassandra. Only one way he knew for a surety that would distract Mor'ded's attention from the missing girl.

   The memory of black fire sang through his mind, made his muscles twitch with just the memory of the pain.

   Father had never tested him in public before. He preferred to keep the torture private, as he kept so many of his amusements private. The elven lords preferred to foster the facade of a benevolent overlord not only among the court, but more importantly, for any visiting dignitaries from the world outside the barrier surrounding England. Dominic had to find a way to goad him into it.

   He tossed his head with arrogant pride, the last few of his steps turning into a strut.

   A mocking smile broke across Mor'ded's mouth. "What news did your lackey bring, champion?"

   Dominic bowed to him, a short bob lacking the full sweep with which he usually honored the Imperial Lord. He sent a pointed look in Walpole's direction. "A prisoner has escaped the tower."

   They held all the prisoners of war in the old tower, far from the delicate sensibilities of the court, until the inmates were either ransomed or had fully accepted their new lowly status in the world. Mor'ded had decided not to keep the girl with the other children awaiting the trials, since he didn't want the court gossiping about why he felt it necessary to surround them with a contingent of guards. Dominic had followed his father's orders without question as usual but felt relieved at the new location. It would have made it easier for him to rescue the girl. If his impulsive wife hadn't made the attempt first.

   Mor'ded knew exactly to which prisoner Dominic referred. His midnight eyes sparkled with anticipation. "Perhaps I should assist in this matter."

   Dominic raised a brow, his head still tilted with smug arrogance. "But why trouble yourself over something so minor? My men will track her down soon enough."

   Mor'ded's face fell with disappointment.

   "Is there something special about this particular prisoner that interests you?" interjected Walpole.

   "Nay, of course not," replied his father.

   Dominic again felt gratitude for Sir Robert's presence, for his father could not reveal the reason for his interest. And the very question that Walpole had offered made Dominic suspect the man knew more about the prisoner than he pretended. Knew about his wife's involvement. His earlier impression that Walpole might be a part of the Rebellion solidified. How priceless to consider the possibility of the king's prime minister directly involved with the Rebellion.

   But the general had to put aside speculations about Walpole for the nonce, for he knew his father might excuse himself at any moment, get involved with the girl's recovery just to relieve his boredom.

   How he hated the arrogance of elven boredom.

   Dominic had never felt as if he looked into a mirror of his future more so than he did at this moment, as he faced his father with the sole intention of provoking the man. Mor'ded's face held the same contemptuous superiority that he felt on his own.

   "I have felt a change, Father." A pure lie. If Dominic held the greater power of black magic inside of him as Ador had revealed, he'd felt not a hint of it. The general knew without doubt that he would fail to withstand the test. He ignored the whisper of the memory of pain.

   Mor'ded ceased glancing at the exit of the box and focused his full attention on his son. "What are you talking about?"

   "My powers. Tonight I felt as if something has grown inside of me." He took a step toward his father, every nuance of his body language taut with challenge.

   "Ah, Walpole. The young pup thinks that just because he managed to impregnate his wife it makes him a man." He kept his voice low.

   Sir Robert replied by taking a step backward, and Dominic's estimation of the man's intelligence reached a new height.

   "Not a man. But an elven lord. Isn't that what you fear, Father? That I hold enough power to challenge an Imperial Lord himself?"

   Mor'ded's face twisted. "You dare."

   "Yes. Here and now." And with those words, Dominic called his magic. Not the orange nor the red, but the insidious power of the black. The sound of the chattering court faded from his ears; the smell of mingled perfume and human body odor cleared from his nose; the sight of marble columns and painted frescoes blurred as he focused all his senses on the magic within him.

   And he felt it.

   A shadow of black fire. A mere suggestion of the flame.

   But he could not call it forth.

   Still, it was enough. Enough for Mor'ded to forget his surroundings, for his fear to launch an attack at his son in front of the entire court.

   Dominic staggered backward from the force of the black blaze. He felt his clothes melt into his skin, his skin crackle and flake to the floor. Then the force of it slowed, as if his father sought to prolong the torture. To punish Dominic for arrogantly challenging him in public. Black flame lazily curled into his lungs, sizzled along his nerves, bringing an agony that surpassed any pain he might have experienced before.

   Blackness covered his eyes and Dominic forced himself not to claw at them as they began to burn. To fry like an egg in a pan, the outer edges bubbling, the yolk hardening as the heat reached the core.

   Ah, faith, it went on for a very long time.

   Twice he felt himself almost collapse. But the thought of Cassandra kept him upright. His feelings for his wife could not make him strong enough to defeat his father, but this time he did not fall to his knees.

   "Stop it, man," cried a voice. Walpole? Dominic couldn't be sure, for the flame crackled in his ears and muted all sound.

   "Don't you see he hasn't the power to defend himself? You're killing him!"

   And like a candle snuffed by a breeze, the burning stopped. Dominic tried to stand upright. He had hunched over from the pain. But his muscles screamed in protest, and he gritted his teeth as he straightened his back. He could not stop the tremors that racked him, the harsh gasp of his breath in the silence. He blinked his eyes as his sight returned, although they still throbbed in time to the memory of pain that still sang through his body.

   Mor'ded gave him a look of triumph mingled with disgust as he pushed past his son and out of the box. A collective gasp followed his departure, and Dominic became aware of the court staring at him with open mouths. Indeed, even the lesser nobles in the seats below had turned to stare upward at the king's box, quizzing glasses held up to shocked eyes.

   Walpole strode forward, grasped his arm. But his skin felt so sensitive he shook off the touch with a grunt of misery.

   "Let me help you, man," he murmured in Dominic's ear.

   "Get away from me." Ah, his voice croaked from his throat, the smooth elven richness of it burned away by fire. "I am used to this."

   Another gasp went round the box and Dominic looked up in fury, straggles of dull white hair creating a curtain over his face. He would not suffer the court's contempt. Not when his every nerve felt seared with heightened awareness.

   But the eyes he met did not hold the indifference he'd expected. Shocked horror, yes. And pity. Mingled with an anger that, oddly enough, he did not feel directed toward him. But toward his father. Yet they could not have seen the burning of his skin, the conflagration of his very bones, for the fire had blazed only in his own mind. Perhaps they had seen the black magic as it had enveloped him and guessed at what had happened.

   Dominic did not care. He only hoped the drain on his father's power from the assault would be enough to keep him from pursuing the escaped child and Cassandra. Or that he had already bought them enough time to gain freedom.

   He thought to take a step, the exit door of the box seeming ridiculously far away, but the moment his clothing slid against his skin a grunt of agony escaped his parched throat. Walpole made a strangled sound and again reached out to steady him, but Dominic ignored the gesture. He curled his hands into fists. Called forth every ounce of his elven blood to combat his human weakness. And strode forward, the silence in the theater near-deafening in the complete absence of sound.

   And made his way toward Ador's tower, to lick his wounds as he always did after a trial.

   The dragon turned his head when Dominic entered his domain, those red eyes narrowing with something akin to the human pity he'd seen on the court's faces below.

   "Don't," he croaked. "I will not stand for any more."

   Ador blinked, then gave a mighty yawn, the force of it stirring Dominic's hair against his cheeks, creating a new type of pain for him to disseminate.

   "Did she escape?" whispered the general.

   "I do not know."

   Dominic sighed, slowly began to peel off his clothing, until he finally stood in nothing but his breeches. Better. But he wished the wind would stop blowing, for even that gentle breeze felt like small knives etching his skin.

   He felt like railing against the dragon, whose knowledge always seemed sketchy at best. But tremors of fatigue still shook him, and only the thought of his wife's danger kept him on his feet. Ador could fly faster than the swiftest horse, could scent better than the huntsman's most skilled hound. He would not beg the dragon for his own life, but for Cassandra's… "Help me save her."

   "I cannot."

   "Or will not."

   The dragon swished his tail, scale screeching on stone. "They are one and the same to me, bastard. Only an elven of great power can wield the scepter, and the scepter cannot move directly against him, for it is bound by the wielder's desires. I am already walking a fine line, revealing so much to you."

   Dominic clenched his fists in frustration. "I must break the bond between this scepter and my magic."

   "You cannot."

   "Then do it for me."

   If the dragon had a brow, it would have risen high above his pointed head. "Your estimation of my abilities flatters me. But have I not made it clear I am but a tool of the scepter? And the relic has motives beyond the comprehension of man, dragon, or elvenkind. But I do know it will not reveal your magic until you have enough power to destroy the mad elf."

   "By then it may be too late."

   "Then we will have failed. And it will be long and long before we see our homeland again." Ador sighed, gazing up at the starry sky, those brilliant eyes dulling to a red sheen, as if he saw a different sky above him, dreamed of a different world that held the comfort of home.

   Dominic hung his head. Ah, faith, he felt tired unto death. One last tremor shook him, the memory of pain fading to nothing more than a dull ache. He gathered up his clothes and for the first time in his life, did not stay until his mind had healed from one of Mor'ded's trials. Instead he returned to his apartments to wait for the return of his wife. Or the summons from his men that they had captured her… or that his father had killed her.

   And then he would make sure Mor'ded destroyed him.

Fourteen

Lady Cassandra leaned low over the neck of her horse; her eyes squinted against the force of the wind, hooves pounding a staccato rhythm beneath her. Only a sliver of moon shone tonight, the pockets of the elven lord's fire across the countryside their only light. They had left the road far behind them, and Cass prayed that none of their mounts stumbled from a hidden hole. Thomas rode to her left, the child and her mother on his other side, and Cass sneaked a glance behind them.

   Breden's half-breed, Cecily, had refused to leave without her mother, and since the girl looked younger than Cassandra had expected, they'd taken the older woman along with them without a fuss. But the combined weight of mother and daughter had slowed their horse, and the guards had caught up to them on the outskirts of London.

   And they were gaining on them.

   She'd felt grateful that the bumbling guards assigned to watch the girl had allowed them to free her without Cassandra's having to kill any of them. But despite their lack of skill, they had managed to rally quickly in pursuit.

   A shot rang out behind them and Cass pressed her body even lower in the saddle. She glanced across at Thomas, whose face had hardened with grim determination. He must have felt her gaze and met her eyes, a curious mixture of fear and glee sparkling within the gray.

   "We cannot outrun them," shouted Cass.

   He nodded, hair streaked like a golden banner behind him. "I will stop and engage them, give you time to lose them in the forest ahead."

   Cassandra didn't think it a likely plan, one man against so many, nor would she allow him to stand alone. But she didn't get the chance to respond to his suggestion, for the girl's mother, Eleanor, shouted her own response first.

   "No!"

   The look of surprise on Thomas's face nearly made Cass grin, despite the peril of their situation. For she'd noticed the adoring gaze Eleanor had bestowed on Thomas the moment he'd entered their cell and announced he was there to rescue them.

   Cecily sat within the shelter of her mother's arms in the front of the saddle and had to turn her head back to stare up at her mother. Without the silverwhite hair of the elven, the girl didn't appear to have inherited so much of her father's gifts, until one noticed her eyes. Like the Imperial Lord of the blue scepter, they glittered an inhuman crystal blue, large and wondrous in such a tiny face.

   Cecily leaned over a bit farther to look around her mother's body at their pursuers, and Cass felt grateful that the intensity of those crystalline eyes hadn't been directed at her.

   Eleanor's arms tightened even more firmly about her daughter. The child then lifted her hands up to the sky, her fingers curling as if she beseeched some pet to come to her. It seemed as if the very air shifted, a sharp tang scenting the sudden breeze.

   Within the shelter of the tower, the girl's sky magic might not have been useful, but here in the open…

   Cass murmured soothing words to her horse. "Easy, boy. It will be just a bit of noise, a bit of rain."

   She glanced behind her again. Fie, but she spoke falsely. Gray clouds gathered above their pursuers, following them as swiftly as any steed. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed with blinding brilliance. Although they rode at the edge of the cloud, their own horses still shied at the noise, and they caught the backlash of the rain that the skies released.

   Although it looked more as if a bucket had been dumped on their pursuers, a flood of water that washed their horses' legs from under them sent them twirling in circles of water. Men fell from their mounts, their cries muffled by the deluge. Lightning hit the very ground among them, outlining quaking bodies with a glow before they collapsed into the puddles that had already started to combine into one shallow lake.

   Lady Cassandra turned back around, gritting her teeth against the pellets of rain that struck like a flail on her face. She did not look at the child or at Thomas. She'd hoped they would accomplish their task without a loss of life. She prayed for the souls of the general's men as they left them far behind.

   Thomas called a halt just within the forest, beneath a stand of oak, the heavy canopy of their leaves protecting them from the rainstorm the child had created. Cass leaned over and patted the neck of her lathered horse while Thomas had a whispered conversation with the girl's mother.

   Cass glanced at the shivering girl. Cecily did indeed possess astonishing power. The descendants of Dewhame's ruler could alter water in small ways, but only Breden could call a storm. The girl surely would have been chosen, would have perished in an agonizing death by fire by Mor'ded's hand or… what? Did Breden drown his powerful offspring? Cassandra felt a sudden rush of
rightness in rescuing Cecily, an
d thanked God for it.

   Thomas walked his horse over to hers.

   "How is she?" asked Cass, nodding at Cecily, who had collapsed within her mother's arms.

   "She's just drained from the use of her magic. Eleanor is strong and can take care of the girl." His gray eyes appeared as dark as Dominic's in the dim light, but Cass thought she detected a glimmer of warmth as he spoke of the girl's mother. And indeed, Eleanor was remarkably beautiful.

   "Thank you, Cass," murmured Thomas with feeling, and she noticed that the heat of his breath frosted the chill air with his words.

   "Whatever for?"

   "If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have found them. How did you know?"

   Lady Cassandra shrugged. "An advantage to knowing the son, I suppose. I didn't think Mor'ded would risk keeping Cecily with the other children. He wouldn't risk exposing his charade."

   "Clever, yes. But why did he surround them with such inept guards?"

   Cass suspected Dominic had had a hand in that. Had he hoped the Rebellion would attempt to free the child? He'd felt so guilty for bringing the existence of Cecily to Mor'ded's notice.

   Raindrops peppered the canopy above them, smacked Cass's head like dollops of melted ice, plunked against the ground in spreading puddles. Thomas reached over and took her hand, the warmth of it enveloping hers even through the cloth of his heavy gloves. "Come with us."

   "I cannot. Even if I wanted to."

   "You truly love the bastard, then?" Thomas shook his head, his golden hair plastered to his skull in a dark cap. "He will be the death of you."

   Cass shivered, and not from the cold. She nodded at mother and child. "Can you hide them?"

   "I'm skilled at stealth and disguise, you know." He gave her that rakish grin of his. "Your efforts tonight will not be in vain, I assure you. I will keep them safe."

   Cassandra nodded.

   "Lord Althorp?" interrupted the girl's mother. "We must get Cecily to shelter. She cannot withstand the cold in her weakened state."

   Thomas quickly dropped Cass's hand and dug in his pouch, pulled forth a blanket and led his horse back over to theirs, gently wrapping the damp wool over the two. His strong hands lingered on Eleanor's thin shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

   "I must return before I'm missed," said Cassandra, feeling suddenly uncomfortable by Thomas's attentions to Cecily's mother. He had been her friend and admirer for such a long time.

   Viscount Althorp tore his gaze from Eleanor's and frowned at Cass, as if he'd forgotten her presence. "Are you sure you won't come with us?"

   She felt Eleanor's gaze upon her. "Very sure. Farewell, Father Thomas." His teeth flashed white in the darkness. "I hope… I hope that one day we can meet again."

   And she turned her horse around as he led the others deeper into the forest, knowing she'd never see him again. He would have to hide deep to keep them safe. New identities. A new life. Until the Rebellion had need of the child's gifts.

   As Lady Cassandra made her way back to London, giving the newly formed lake a wide berth, she wondered if a half-breed's magic could ever be strong enough to stand against an Imperial Lord's. Once the Rebellion spread the word about the true fate of a chosen one, the people of England would fight to hide their children from the trials. Like this eve, many more men would die in their efforts to keep them safe.

   Assuming the people would believe that the children weren't sent to Elfhame. It would be hard for many, who led such difficult lives, to give up the dream of a better life for their children.

   And would the Rebellion save the children to challenge the elven lords, and lose their lives anyway when they failed?

   Cass couldn't be sure. She only knew she could not stand by and let any child be sent to certain doom.

   She avoided the streets when she entered the city, using what elven gifts she had to make her passage as silent as possible through mews and alleyways. She came upon the palace through the forest that sheltered the elven garden where she'd professed her love for Dominic, the faint sound of the musical flowers almost bringing tears to her eyes.

   To love among such misery only made it feel all the sweeter.

   She left her horse with May's smitten stable boy, the yawning lad asking no questions about Lady Cassandra's wet and bedraggled appearance. The entire palace seemed to sleep, for she managed to make it to her apartments unseen. She had concocted a story about tending to a sick friend at her old school to explain her absence in the dead of night, but fortunately she didn't have to use it.

   Her shoes still squelched as she entered her silent bedroom, and she quickly removed them, setting them quietly down by the door. The curtains around the bed had been drawn and only a soft glow from the fireplace lit the room. She cocked her head, listening for the sound of her husband's deep breathing. Cass had left him a message that she would explain her absence when she returned. She would tell him the truth, and despite his ridiculous notions about her safety, she felt sure he would understand why she'd had to help Thomas.

   She peeled off her wet stockings, managed to struggle out of the sodden dress and bodice, and had just started on the ties of her stays when she saw him.

   He sat in a shadowed corner of the room, and at first she could see only the glimmer of his crystal eyes.

   "Dominic?"

   He did not answer. She slowly made her way across the room to him, almost afraid to approach his still form. He must be more angry with her than she had supposed. She started to babble.

   "I
had
to help Thomas save her. Breden's halfbreed child. I… I could not let her face the trials. I know I've probably worried you, but I knew how guilty you felt about telling your father about the girl and so I thought you would forgive me—"

   "Are you hurt?"

   His voice sounded odd, the smooth elven richness of it changed to a gravelly whisper. She had reached the front of the chair, her damp petticoats brushing against his knees. He wore nothing but his breeches, his skin pale in the dim light.

   "No. Just wet. Cecily, the half-breed, called down a storm on our pursuers and we caught the edge of it. But it allowed us to escape them, for Thomas to take them to safety—Dear Heavenly Father. Dominic, what's wrong with you?"

   For her eyes had adjusted enough to see that his skin lacked its usual luster, that his face had seams of lines across his forehead, along the sides of his full lips. She reached out and laid her fingers on his arm, and he winced, pulling away from her. As if her very touch brought him pain. Then he leaned forward, every muscle in his body tense with sudden anger.

   "I had planned on freeing her tonight,
after
the play," he growled. "With enough skill that no one would have suspected her absence until the morrow. When it would be too late to launch a successful pursuit. If you had but confided in me, I could have told you."

   Cass tried to keep the sullenness from her voice. "You wouldn't have allowed me to help."

   "No. Unlike your Thomas, I have a concern for your safety."

   Would he never accept her competence in taking care of herself? "Thomas has faith and confidence in my abilities."

   "Do not say that man's name again." His anger abruptly died and he collapsed back into the chair with a groan.

   Cassandra fell to her knees. "Dominic, please tell me what's wrong with you. I see no sign of hurt, and yet…"

   "Foolish woman," he whispered, as if his voice could no longer retain its usual timbre. "Did you not think that my father might come after you?"

   "We had thought to take her in stealth but it did not go as smoothly as we had planned." Fie, she hated to admit that.

   "It went better than you know."

   He sounded so weak, as if he'd just returned from a battlefield. Had he been with the men who had pursued them? Had Cecily's spell caught him unawares? Cass did not understand, but instead of asking more questions she waited for his reply, a dreadful feeling twisting her belly.

   "Father saw my lieutenant when he brought me news of the girl's escape. I could not keep it from him, nor could I ride after you, for Father would have joined the hunt. Fortunately
your
Sir Robert stood with us—"

   She gasped.

   "Ah yes. He's part of this Rebellion of yours, is he not? A clever man to have on your side, I wager. He questioned the importance of the girl, and of course, my father could not admit to it. So it gave me the chance…"

   His voice faded, as if parched beyond speech. The feeling that had grown inside of Cass now solidified into a vague sort of terror. She rose on wooden legs, fetched a glass of water, and returned to hand it to him.

   His hand shook as he brought it to his lips. She could not bear to see him so weakened, and collapsed at his feet again.

   The water appeared to help, and as Dominic set the glass down on the delicate mahogany table at his side, his posture straightened. "I could think of no other way to distract him. I told him I felt the black magic within me, goaded him to test me in front of the entire court. And it worked."